Then several minutes more were consumed in putting on
their skates.
"My! how if does snow!" came from Tom, as they started at last. "I
can't see fifty feet ahead."
"Nor I, Tom. I really wish we were with Dick and Mr. Barrow."
"So do I, but I guess it's all right."
Forward they pushed, dragging the sled after them. It was rough work,
and the ice was often covered too deep with snow to make skating a
pleasure.
"It seems to me the river is getting narrower than ever," said Sam.
"It's queer, too, for Mr. Barrow said it was quite broad hear the lake,"
"He said one of the branches was broad, Sam. We must be on a different
branch."
"Let us call to them again."
Once more they cried out, at the top of their lungs. But nothing
answered them, not even a muffled echo. All was swallowed up in the
loneliness of the situation and in the fast falling snow, which now
covered even the load on the sled to the depth of an inch or more.
"Come on," said Sam half desperately. "We must catch up to them, sooner
or later.
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